


Weigh Down the Eyes

by ao3afterdark



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/F, F/M, mind fuckery accompanied by the other sort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 12:36:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10854141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ao3afterdark/pseuds/ao3afterdark
Summary: Isabela finds herself in the undesirable position of being tied up on display, and everyone and their brother (or sister) seems to have come by for a taste...





	Weigh Down the Eyes

Word of her predicament had spread swiftly. There was murmured conversation, laughter over the long, glistening trails of cum that slicked Isabela's sweat soaked skin, smoothing the way for the next man. She could have traced his smile without looking, did. She didn't want to see it now, pressing down upon her breasts, but she felt it anyway, the curve of it around a nipple as he sucked it into his mouth. Four men ago, or even two, Isabela would have fought him. She had struggled at first, fighting with curses gritted out between clenched teeth as she was lashed to the dock, as the first of many tore away her smalls, bit and kicked and cursed the balls of their descendants seven generations hence, but now she could only drop her head against the pole behind her, shuddering out a long, low moan as he shoved inside her. 

She looked up into green eyes that winked up at her like jewels in the low light. "Fenris," she started, but it came out a thin, raggedy cry as he started to set a swift, bruising pace, slamming his hips against her hard enough that cries were torn out of her, all unwilling. It hurt, but the pain blurred together with a keen edge of pleasure as he dragged the nails of the hand he wasn’t using to hold her leg up wide down to her clit until she keened for him, until her breaths turned to sobbing attempts for breath. And when he came, it was silent, a curl of his lips and fingers bent into claws on her thigh as he thrust inside her once, twice more. Warmth bloomed inside her, only to drip out of her when he left, as everyone did.

If he said anything to her then, whispered or otherwise, she did not choose to remember.

She'd tried to lose herself in a quiet place in her head after that, or tried to, but it proved to be an impossibility as the hours bled away and new faces, old faces, appeared. She shuddered again when a second cock was lined up and slowly pushed in beside the first, inch by agonizing, thrilling inch.

Hope had welled up in her breast when she recognized Hawke's beard and Anders's coat in the crowd, only for it to be dashed when she watched Varric's hand slip beneath his belt. His other was wrapped around a quill pen, working it across the pages of a journal he had balanced in his lap even as he worked his cock with the other, even as he watched Hawke and Anders twist her on her side between them so that they could both shove into her cunt alongside each other. She felt their hands meet on the swell of her hip and interlace, holding onto each other tight instead of her, never her, using the leverage to haul her down hard onto them. Every time she rocked forward off of one cock, it was only to be split wide and open by the other, and she near lost her voice for cursing them.

She did not beg. Not now, not ever. Not again.

"Oh, sweetness," Isabela murmured a scant hour later, "not you, too."

Bethany avoided looking her in the eyes as she sank down between Isabela's legs, but her hands were shaking as she smoothed them down Isabela's shivering flanks. Overstimulated as she was, Isabela couldn't help the whine that crept out between the tight press of her lips when Bethany's thumb smoothed over her swollen clit. "Relax, Bela," came her whisper. "Please?" Another swipe of her thumb and Isabela keened. She squirted a little, leaking a thin trail of glistening fluid to the gathered cum that drew Bethany's eyes. "Oh," she said, nearly a whisper, and bent, her free hand coming up to gently nudge Isabela's knee wider.

Bethany parted Isabela's swollen lips with a shivering sigh, a blush creeping across her cheeks and down the curve of her breasts. Isabela had always entertained thoughts about what those breasts would taste like, but had held off. Bethany was too young, too good. Too everything Isabela was not.

It was hard to keep youth and moral superiority in mind when Bethany gently pushed fingers inside her. That very gentleness was what undid her, what made her twist her face away. She snapped at the poor girl, said something waspish and cruel that made Bethany’s hand still against and inside her. Isabela blamed the harsh noise twisting in her mouth on that. After that, there was little time for talk, it seemed, pushed aside for sound and movement and base wants, the way everything always was. 

Dimly, she was aware of Bethany's tunic being yanked up as someone pushed inside the younger woman, shoving Bethany's fingers deeper inside her cunt. Both women moaned. Isabela arched against the ropes, writhing and shouting Bethany's name as she came again, helplessly and hopelessly caught between sensations. She was still shivering when Bethany started to buck against her, calling out words that bled away between thrusts, as much as she tried to hold onto them. Dehydration and pain and overstimulation made it hard to focus, made words and people blur away into unfocused impressions of cocks and hands and laughter and, very occasionally, a cool touch of fingers on her lips. The promise of water that never came.

When next Isabela opened her eyes, it was to a soft, parting smile with a hint of fangs. “Oh, kitten,” Isabela rasped, eyes fluttering. She got a vague impression of facial tattoos crinkling as Merrill gave a laugh. “Are you sure its boats you want?” Merrill asked, her smile twinkling in purple eyes that shivered like a flame. “Or is it biscuits, stale and dry?”

“What…?” Isabela opened her eyes with an effort, but Merrill was gone, and in her place was Aveline, armor and all, wearing that same pinched expression she always got when Isabela had done something rather foolishly involving blood, some of it hers. “Oh, shove off,” Isabela muttered as ungentle hands took her down from the pole.

Aveline was not gentle, not the way Bethany or Merrill may have been, nor Anders or Hawke or Varric or even Fenris, but the steady pressure of her hand on Isabela’s back soothed her the way gentleness had always failed to do. “Will you agree?” Aveline asked her, and if Isabela had been more herself, she may well have noticed the smoky undercurrent of laughter between every word. “Will you stay with me?”

“For you, starlight?” Isabela murmured, more a movement of her lips that nonetheless made something bright and thin and precious snap tight in her chest. “I would agree to anything.”

“I need you to say it,” Aveline told her, and if it didn’t sound anything at all like Aveline anymore, the hands at her back were just as steady, just as sure, and all she’d ever wanted had been for steady hands and steady shoulders, and maybe a space between them just big enough for her to fit.

“Yes,” Isabela said, and even when she closed her eyes, she could see Aveline’s smile. “Yes, I will stay with you. Whatever you want.”


End file.
